


Eukaryon

by think_ghastly_thoughts_quietly



Category: Dark (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, Mystery, Quantum Theory - Freeform, Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/think_ghastly_thoughts_quietly/pseuds/think_ghastly_thoughts_quietly
Summary: It wasn’t by coincidence I landed in a hospital bed without a name or memories to call my own.And still it would not be coincidence that I came upon the very priest who put me there.
Relationships: Elisabeth Doppler/Noah | Hanno Tauber (past), Jonas Kahnwald/Martha Nielsen, Noah | Hanno Tauber/Original Female Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The writers of DarK, I have no skill that will surpass yours, but I will enjoy this universe you have created for me.
> 
> Rating subject to change

Now, I wake.

The room is plain, the door closed, the drone of the machine picks up its rhythm, electronic and familiar. This is the sound I think I’ve heard as the metronome in my dreams. Then, I’m beginning to feel it - the cold that has settled into my bones, having worked its way through my flesh like rot, my skin rises with goosebumps. I don’t know why the panic settles in, cloying, bearing onwards like a storm in my chest— 

_Who am I?_

The question rings and I catch from the corner of my eye a wooden cross hanging from the wall, moving in sequence with my hand across my stomach — flat, empty — an unprecedented loss. Then, something breaks.

When the nurse walks in, my face is wet. I don’t know why, but crying seems right at this moment. Alarm writes her expression; obviously she didn’t mean to find me like this, neither did I her. It is only now do I register that I am in a hospital.

Then, comes her apology - something that immediately means nothing to me.

“I’m so sorry...” her whisper carries over the span of the room.


	2. Galatea

My body is a vessel for a soul which does not know any better. 

_“What...happened… to me?”  
“You were found behind the hospital…left for the dead.”_

_”Who am I?”  
“Don’t you know?”_

__“Where is it?”  
“What?”  
“The baby?” ____

___Sleep eludes me, forces my feet to the washroom. The light flickers on, illuminates the room in a pale glow. My back is driven into the tiled wall as I see myself in the mirror. Yes, I look ill, my skin dry, my hair unruly, dark crests had formed under my eyes— . I shake at the sight because I remember a time where I did not look as this — the frail reflection of the ghost trapped behind glass._ _ _

_“There is no baby.”  
“You’re lying. I was with…”  
“You’ve been in a coma for over a year. How can you be so certain of something that doesn’t exist?” No no no, it’s not true—I know there is — I know there has to be, this isn’t right. But who will believe you? Be careful. For something like this— they will send you to a psychiatric ward. That’s what the nurse had said to me. _

___I lift the hem of the hospital gown to my chest. Underneath there are marks which I distinctly recognize to have always belonged to me, the freckles, blemishes, these which define the canvas of my skin. There is a scar on my elbow which I know has been there since I can remember. But, I don’t know where it came from; whether it was from the snatches of a long past childhood or a recent development of my adulthood that I can’t recall the details of because, like the loss of my name, this is all a side effect of—_ _ _

___My stomach is flat._ _ _

_“You were found with a bullet in your skull. The police thought you were abducted. It’s a miracle you survived, sister.”  
“Sister?”  
“Yes. You are part of a convent, aren’t you?”  
“What? What are you talking about? What convent?”_

___As I slink to bed, I realize the flesh of my legs had arranged themselves during my coma because the sensation of walking is not something my body is used to yet. I walk slowly and unsteadily as though balancing on stilts, past a chair where a wooden cross sits, bounded by thread, as a tangle atop folded blue robes. These are mine. I can’t believe it to be mine, but apparently it has always been me, these clothes representing my passion, my choice. But, would it be like me to take the vow of a consecrated life which now does not even appeal to me? Did the shot to the head change my personality too?_ _ _

___Gravity causes my legs to cave before I can crawl into bed, and my knees hit the ground but the pain is negligible. I am kneeling but not in prayer. My hand is crushed over my mouth. The other is pressed against an angry web of scars hiding beneath the hair at my temple. I don’t know how any of this is possible, why any of this is real. But, I don’t want to be here. I don’t belong here. Not like this._ _ _

___I cry so hard bile rises behind my teeth._ _ _


	3. In esse

When God sought to punish, He did so by casting his children from paradise into the dark. But, they had disobeyed Him — Adam and Eve. 

So what have I done to have deserved it all. Is my life made for God’s entertainment?

Would knowing even matter?

While the question eats at me I can’t find the motivation to stomach whatever tray of whatever the nurse delivers to my room in the morning and the afternoon. You should eat — it’s not good for you not to, she admonished lightly. Obviously, my body will need nutrition, but now it does not need it — not when I’m haunted by phantom memories. 

Phantom memories, I call them, are sensations my body remembers. Like cold. Too warm. Discomfort. Thirst. I can name things outside my window. Car. Street lights. Telephone poles. Man. Woman. Child. I know the fundamentals. At least I am familiar with this world — it means I was raised in it. But, why else would I not be? 

The door opens before I can hear a knock. If it were any other time, I would feel agitated but I am drained from last night, and I’ll likely be drained for the rest of the day. 

The woman that enters the room looks as determined as I may look miserable. Her lips press together before she speaks.

“Hello.” 

“Hello.” I don’t like the way I sound. Every sentence starts a little shrill because my voice has not been used in a while. 

“My name is Charlotte Doppler, chief of Winden police. I’ve been waiting for you.” She pauses, “I took up your case because it’s particularly... odd and terrible.”

_Odd and terrible._

I swallow with a dry throat and I must forcefully remind myself that I cannot cry because Charlotte Doppler does not seem like the type of woman who is inclined to comfort me at this moment. In fact, she seems quite detached from emotion. She seems quite made for her job.

“We don’t have many leads on the people who did this to you, but the hospital has CCTV of a suspect dropping you off behind the hospital.”

“What do they look like?”

Charlotte frowns. “Male. Maybe 185 centimeters. Wore dark clothes. Unfortunately, the camera was not able to catch his face.”

I glance down at my hands, not quite seeing the wrinkles in my palms, looking through them as I try to sculpt the visage of a man that has no reference in my mind. I look at her. “I don’t know anyone like that.”

She nods in understanding, as though my answer was expected. 

“And still you have nothing?”

“We might not be able to have anything now.” She looked apologetic. “But, we’re still trying. For all we know, he could have left town, beyond our jurisdiction. I know it’s not something you want to hear.”

“Of course it’s not.” I’m watching myself, my tone even though giving into anger seems very enticing right now. “So, what else do you want from me? It’s not like I can…”

Her eyes flicker with sympathy. “Yes, I know. I was informed that you are suffering from your injuries. But, this isn’t an interrogation. I would be wasting my time here if I came for that. I wanted to ask you if you would feel comfortable seeing someone.”

“For what?” For therapy? The suggestion is a little unnerving. I don’t think I’m ready to be placed in a room with a stranger, especially when he could be the very person who made an attempt on my life. 

“To find out who you are.” Charlotte replies simply. “I think it would be a better place to start now that you’re awake. Of course, only if you’re ready. But...considering that you’re still trying to adjust, I can always come back.”

I don’t answer this as soon as I may have wanted. What am I agreeing to, exactly? To leave the confines of my room? The only place I feel remotely safe?

Sensing my hesitation, Charlotte walks over to my bedside. She has been keeping her distance until now.

“You didn’t deserve this. Any of this.” 

“Thank you.” I reply and though my heart is filled with bitterness, I somehow manage to sound genuine. I hate making this decision for myself, but I know I can’t cower in my room forever. If I’m afraid that someone will try to finish me off as they had failed before, then they could have had every opportunity while I was at my most vulnerable. Time is precious to me and at some point the police will give up too. 

“I think I’ll be ready to leave the hospital tomorrow.”

Charlotte Doppler has a naturally closed face, you couldn’t read much of her thoughts by only looking at her. But, when I see the crack, her thin smile, it tempts my trust. 

“One of my officers will escort you. I’d come but, unfortunately my duties don’t permit me the time.”

“Where will I be going?” I ask.

Her eyes fly up the wall, focusing on the cross brandished above the clock. 

“Saint Christopher’s parish.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The next day comes in a gasp. The nurse assigned to me was a little more attentive this morning than the day before. I never committed her name to memory, but I don’t even think she introduced herself. Whe is older and she treats me as a mother would treat her teenage daughter — somewhat patronizing, somewhat overbearing. You know, you’ll find your home, she says to me as I am about to leave. He will always guide us home. 

Did she mean God?

I didn’t bother to ask. 

On the way to St. Christopher’s, Torben was kind enough to ask me nothing, yet he made do with good conversation. He is candid about Winden. I didn’t need to know about the missing child, Erik Obendorf but I guess maybe it’s a good that my circumstances aren’t the only _odd and terrible_ thing in this town.

“It’s sad really, don’t you think? Nothing happens here in Winden. The community is pretty tight, and most people have a relatively stable job, settle down, and end up dying in the very place they were born. Most don’t even leave. And then, this. It shakes the whole town. So many people volunteering - kind of hopeful, knowing that one’s loss could trigger others to work together.”

Is someone looking for me too?

“Yes, it is nice.” I reply, staring out the window. The sky is glum and the forest is so dark and deep— it hungers. Was Erik Obendorf last seen in these woods? Did the trees take him? Does the bracken hide his body? Maybe I’ll remember walking through a forest like this, remember that it really wasn’t as bad as I make it out to be right now. 

“Stupid question. But, how does it feel — wearing that?” 

It took a moment for me to understand what Torben meant. I smoothe down the blue skirt.

“I…” don’t like it. It’s hot. It’s bothersome. The passenger window reveals the silhouette of my covered head. Too modest. “It’s warm,” I eventually say as a field touched by autumn scrolls by, “and scratchy.” 

Torben chuckles at that. “I had an ex-girlfriend who wanted to become a nun. Studied at Weltenburg. A couple of her friends made bets with themselves on whether she’d make it,” Torben says.

“What is she doing now?”

“Not sure. I just know she couldn’t handle wearing those habits,” he replies.

She and I both, then.

The car turns off onto a road and I see the church. Built on the edge of the forest, the structure stands, aged and colored with time, the roof weathered by years of rain. 

“Are you ready?” Torben asks.

No.

“Yes.”

As we both walk towards the entrance, though I realize I might be safe with an officer, anxiety claws at me from the inside. But, my feet keep moving, in step with Torben’s, along the concrete path that divides the grass. The urge is there, I don’t look over my shoulder because I’m training myself to not feel paranoid. 

Torben opens the door for me, and the only person in the church, sits in the front pew wearing black cassock.

“Hello, Father?” Torben calls. The church carries his words as an echo before the silence abounds.

In a voice that is calmly measured, the priest says, “I regret to say my schedule is full this afternoon.”He rises and turns around. “But, if you’d like to schedule a meeting next week—”

The widened width of a fraction - it’s how his eyes respond at the sight of us, a subtle shift in his stoic visage; it would not have been easy to see but for me it wasn’t hard to miss. Even without words, people can still speak. 

Just as quickly, the priest recovers, yet he speaks slower, “Someone should be available next monday.”

“Yes, well, I’m sorry for happening upon you on such short notice but—”

“I said next monday, mister…?”

“Wöller. Torben Wöller. I’m with the Winden police. We-uh…” He glances at me hesitantly. I’m a reminder for him and he frowns a bit because to be turned away now would be failing me. “May I?” Torben approaches the priest with hastened footsteps before the priest can acquiesce. Their conversation is a minute of whispered exchanges, too low and too quiet for me to discern. But eventually, the priest steps back and nods reluctantly, with a jaw hard and eyes cold.

“Will you introduce us?” He asks curtly.

“Oh, right.” Torben signals me to approach and as I do he says, “This is...uh...well, “Erika Mustermann.” She’s a sister of God, or, at least we think so.”

Hearing it is a bit of a blow. But, for now I will be ‘Erika without definitiveness’ or ‘Erika’’, but the name does not own me. It’s a label, it’s useful, what else are they supposed to call me? — Unfortunately it’s a label that says I’m lost and I can’t find my way back home. 

“‘Erika Mustermann’?” He repeats amusedly. 

“Yes,” Torben looks at you, “and this is Father…father…?” The officer searches for a name he thinks he knows, but the hesitation is telling that he knows nothing. 

The priest swiftly interjects. “Noah.” It seems like he is trying to pull his mouth into a smile, but all I see is the poor attempt at one. It’s a little insulting. It would be better if he didn’t smile at all.

Torben hums. “I can imagine you’re in frequent contact with other parishes. If you could help us start—”

There’s a persistent buzz emitting from Torben’s breast pocket and he scrambles to fish the phone out. “One moment please.” He answers the caller with a grunt, a nod, and ends the call. When he returns his phone into his breast pocket he looks at me apologetically. 

“Sorry. The station is calling me back,” he says to me.

“I’m sure it must be urgent,” I reply.

“It is…” he says, “But, I’ll be back as soon as I can to escort you to the hospital. Unless you would like that I take you now?”

“Maybe that’s best.” I nod. “Then, we can come back—”

“I’d be obliged to keep her company,” Father Noah interrupts.

I look at him, but he’s not looking back. Didn’t he say he would be busy?

“Oh that’s great,” Torben exclaims. 

“How long will you be gone?” I ask.

“I don’t know but I’m sure you'll be in good hands with Father Noah until I return.” He looks to the priest. “Thank you for your help.”

“After what has befallen my dear sister, I’m obligated to support her,” he says, as if piously. 

With that Torben is out the door before I have a chance to stop him. I wanted to leave with him, and miss this opportunity, because certainly it would be better than— 

“I’ve been informed of your situation,” Father Noah says eventually, “and you have my deepest condolences.” He could not have said it with any less sympathy. Then, he sets for the door behind the altar. 

Every house of God should feel as though my home, or so they say. Is that what the nurse had meant as home? But, this is not my home. Home shouldn’t make my heart beat deepen, I shouldn’t have to feel it in my throat, or hear it in my ears.

I hesitate before the treads of the altar and the priest notices. He looks at me with a raised brow. 

“Is something wrong, sister?”

The way he says “sister” is almost mocking. Like he knows too that— 

“I do not…I do not want to be here.”

“Well, surely, you don’t want to go on as “Erika Mustermann” for the rest of your life, do you?” I thought I imagined the curl of his lip. Shouldn’t a man of his vocation have more patience? 

Cautiously, I shake my head. 

“Then, come.” He smiles another fake. “I will try to contact Erlöserbund as a start. Perhaps they might have a record of their recent novitiates. Do you know of any monasteries where you studied? ”

“There is nothing I remember.” I declare, and I thought I could immediately taste the tears forming in the hollow of my throat. “Not my name.” I pause to recover my voice — I thought I had heard it quiver. “My home. I don’t even know the face of the man who had done this to me. Sometimes my body lies to me, makes me believe that I had experienced something I never had—”

_“Where is it?”  
“What?”  
“The baby?”  
“There is no baby.” ___

__“— And yet, none of it seems real - like a dream I had forgotten.”_ _

__Father Noah’s expression softens a fraction as does his eyes. And for a moment, I think he is sympathizing with me until he says:_ _

__“You should be thankful, then. God was merciful.”_ _

__The fire starts in my belly. I resent the simplicity of his statement — My knuckles are white and I feel my teeth fit together._ _

__“Is ignorance God’s intention?” I grit out._ _

__Father Noah steps toward me. In his eyes, there is a fire too, burning behind blue - it’s a fire that has been going on for awhile._ _

__“Don’t you know? It has always been His intention, since the beginning, to keep us in the dark.”_ _


End file.
